The Procedure Read Online Free PDF Page A

meant I sat around the house, sure that I’d gotten all dressed up for nothing, and he was taking one of his bimbos with him instead.
    When I heard the door open and the familiar sound of his footsteps on the marble tile, I got excited. I’d taken extra care with my hair and makeup, and the lady who sold me the short, black, Vera Wang dress I was wearing assured me it was made for me. My legs were waxed to perfection and the diamond-encrusted and black-strapped Jimmy Choos that covered my feet made my ass look round and ready when I looked in the mirror.
    Standing, I adjusted my dress and waited for him to look at me when he entered the room. Excitement and hope swam through me, making my pulse accelerate. A smile pulled at my ruby-red lips because I just knew I looked great. I felt pretty, and I hadn’t felt that way in so long.
    The door opened, and there he was. His eyes dragged from my face, over my cleavage and stomach, before falling and following the bit of thigh that was showing and my legs. Optimism bloomed inside of me. He was actually looking at me, following my curves as if I’d mesmerized him in some way. It felt powerful.
    “What the fuck are you wearing?” he asked abruptly, his eyes clashing with mine.
    My bubble of happiness popped instantly. His expression changed to one of disgust, and my stomach bottomed out. Reaching down, I ran my fingers across the bottom hem of my dress. “I got it for you. Do you… don’t you like it?”
    My voice sounded as weak as my stomach felt.
    “Stop fucking around and change. You know you’re too old for a dress like that. Are you trying to embarrass me, Sam? What made you think you could ever pull something like that off?”
    I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Not that it would have mattered. I’d failed to do anything more than disgust him further.
    Waving a hand in my direction, he dismissed me. “You have ten minutes to change or I’m leaving without you. And wipe off the whore lipstick.
    And then he turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him and breaking away the remaining pieces of my heart.
    The hurt part of me wanted to curl up into a ball and lose myself, or what was left of me, in the darkness of the night. But the part of me that desperately wanted to try and salvage the rest of the night slowly peeled the straps of my new black dress down my shoulders.
     

 

 
     
     
    I WASN’T SURE who put event going in my job description, but apparently, it was a part of my career. Reconstructive, or even cosmetic surgery for that matter, had absolutely nothing to do with the party going on around me except for the fact that more than half of the partygoers had been touched by my partner’s scalpel a time or two.
    Downing my second drink, I sat at the bar and contemplated how I was going to escape the dreaded event. I worked a long day, performing Tori’s fourth graph surgery in the last four months. I desperately needed this one to take because I wasn’t sure how much more the eight-year-old could handle.
    Her parents were starting to lose faith, and more importantly than that, so was Tori. No little girl wanted to be cooped up in a hospital or hospital bed for four long, painful months. I had a soft spot for all my patients, even more so for the younger ones, and I knew I got overly attached to them. But Tori was different from all the rest because she reminded me so much of her .
    I checked my watch, knowing I was going to stop by the hospital on my way home to check on her one more time. Hopefully, she’d be asleep and her pain would be manageable.
    Shoving my hands into the pockets of my suit pants, I surveyed the guests. My partner, Richard Stein, was sure that going to the party full of rich and powerful people would bring more clientele to the practice. Judging the women there, I was positive he wouldn’t have any problems keeping his schedule full and busy over the next few months. I was convinced he had enough clientele to